Amor
by Sissi
Summary: [AU] It is not unheard of painters falling in live with their models, or writers falling for their muses. But, what if one falls for a woman who doesn't even know whether she is real or not? Maybe, she was just the muse of some other fellow painter, who e


Title: Amor 

By: Sissi

A/N: My response to Dark Deity's challenge. ^^ Took me a long time, but here it is. I don't think the song fits with the story but, well, I couldn't come up with a better plotline.

Disclaimer: GW is not mine, nor the song "Black Rose Immortal" by Opeth.

Songfic

            It was early spring. Small birds left their nests to fly in the wide blue sky, searching for food and perhaps, a companion to share for their entire life. White fluffy clouds floated aimlessly in this blue velvet that covers the planet called Earth, so full of life and beauty that it stills amazes people to know they are alive in such a wonderful place.

_                                                      In the name of desperation __  
                                                      I call your name   
  
_

            Trowa narrowed his eyes as he read again the small sheet of paper he held in his hands. The tiny letters were hard to read and he had to squint his eyes so he could recognize the letters. After making sure he had memorized the correct address, he called a cab and entered the vehicle. The stout little man who was driving the car turned his head and grinned. 

            "So, where are we going?"

            "79 Rue Daguerre ," Trowa supplied the other man.  The driver nodded and started the engine; Trowa closed his eyes and rested his head on the seat, his hands folded neatly on his lap. Opening them once again, he stared out the window, noticing the exquisite surrounding. France was certainly one of the most beauiful countries, he mused.  

            He wondered how his friend Quatre was doing. After all, he was there, in this foreign country just because of him, his best friend and a rich businessman interested in art. He smiled. Quatre had sounded very eager on the phone when he told him about his new art gallery and the many pictures he had bought just for its inauguration. It was a pity it had already passed and he had missed it, but nonetheless, here he was, enjoying his time. 

            He opened the window and let the warm wind play with his brown hair. It touched lightly his cheek, just like a mother caressing her child. Images of a pretty young woman with red hair and grey eyes appeared in his mind. 

            "Catherine..." he whispered to no one. His sister was propbably happy at their home in Italy, taking care of her family. She had blossomed a lot the last time he had visited her; motherhood certainly blessed pregnant women, making them look merrier and healthier. 

                                                      _A lamentation I sigh __  
                                                      Again and again   
  
___

            Minutes passed quickly, and within moments, the cab hailed in front of a tall grey building. Trowa opened the door and payed the driver, receiving a huge smile and an advice to visit the Eiffel Tower. He nodded and the car disappeared in the horizon, leaving him alone in front of the gallery. 

            He walked to the entrance and asked an employer to call his boss. He hurried away, leaving behind a trail of dust. Within seconds, a blond man appeared, his face a little pale but pleased to see his friend. They shook hands whilst entering the building.

            "It's been a long time, my friend." Trowa nodded, astounded with the many artworks displayed on the walls. He stopped in front of one and narrowed his eyes, checking out the painter's work. It was flawless. 

            "I see you've liked my collection, right?" Quatre laughed whilst saying this, enjoying his time watching as his friend moved from one painting to the other, like a small child trying to choose a candy in a candy shop, though Trowa was a lot less clumsy and excited. To a not trained eye, that is, because he knew eagerness and excitement were flooding inside his friend's veins. It was quite obvious, really. 

            "I have a private collection upstairs, in the last floor. Do you want to check it out?"

            "Sure. Who's the artist?" Trowa asked. 

            "Milliardo Peacecraft. He rarely paints, but when he does, it's just marvelous! I just have two or three of his works and they costed a lot, but they were worth it. Come," he motioned, leading him to the lift on the other corner of the gallery.  

            Like magic, the doors opened and they entered the small cubicle. Quatre pressed the ninth button and leaned on the metallic wall. Trowa crossed his arms around his chest. 

            "One's my favourite, I'm sure you'll like it. The technique is just amazing, and the model is perfect." Trowa quirked an eyebrow and Quatre laughed. "Don't look at me like that, you'll see that I am right and not overreacting."

            The doors opened and they left, walking on a fine green carpet, exquisite Arabic designs decorating the huge room. Quatre pulled out a small remote control and turned on the light. He smiled to his friend who had an amused smile on his lips. "Technology addicts people," was his lame excuse, which was somewhat true. 

            He took out a small golden key from his breast pocket and used it to open a locked door, the most secluded one of the entire floor. One would have thought it would be either his office, mattered with important and top secret files, or a room where his money would be, when in reality, it was his room loaded with his favourite paintings and sculptures. His private sanctuary. 

            He stepped inside and turned on the lights. He watched as Trowa entered the room and widened his eyes. He tried to supress a grin, but it was hard not to laugh at a person who was trying hard not to amaze himself. 

            "Do you like it?"

            Trowa nodded very slowly, his eyes never leaving the wall. Quatre smiled. 

"You'll have time to analyse all of them, but first, I'd like you to see Milliardo's works. They're in the back of the room." He pointed the direction and Trowa could not help but turn his head and ask him a question.

            "Why so secluded from the main gallery?" 

            "I guess I've fallen in love." This made Trowa stare at his friend for long minutes, never blinking at him. He shrugged. 

            "When you're in love with something, you want it all to yourself."

            "Then why are you showing them to me?" He received a laugh as a reply. "No idea. Well, let's just see them, shall we?" He nodded, ignoring the playfulness in his friend's voice. 

            When they reached the so famous spot, Trowa trembled as his eyes widened. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever see in his entire life. Not only was the technique, as Quatre had poited out, marvelous, but the young woman represented on the painting was just too unreal to exist. 

_                                                      Spiritual eclipse __  
                                                      The gateways are closed for me to seek   
  
_

Her golden hair flowed on her back, some loose strands floating around her as the wind, carrying some dry leaves, moved them around like some golden tentacles. Her lovely heart shaped face was lit up by her smile, huge and sincere, and her head was adorned with a small crown of pale pink flowers, making her look like a small creature born from the Nature's womb. 

            She was not in profile, just slightly, letting the people see the way her hair touched the small arc of her back. The transparent laces of her sun dress were also flying around because of the wind, and if one looked intently, it was possible to see the artist's real intentions when portraying the silken cloth; if one stayed far away from the picture, the transparent cloth, flying around her back, would look like wings made of glass. An angel. 

            She was certainly on a dense forest, for tall and regal trees stood proudly in the background, their branches high and firm. Their leaves prohibited any sunbeam to filter the scenario, giving an aura of mysteriousness and unrealness. Everything seemed so ethereal that one would think it was a photograph of what Heaven would look like. 

_                                                      The night... __  
                                                      A veil of stars, watching   
  
___

            Trowa inhaled deeply; closing his eyes and opening them again, as if to make sure he was not dreaming, he averted his eyes to his friend, not without some reluctance. It took him a lot of will strength to shift his eyes from Heaven.

            "Quatre...where did you find this?" he was breathless and Quatre easily caught this. He looked again at his most treasured painting and replied with fondness, "From Milliardo when I bought some of his previous works. He had just finished it when he gave it to me."

            "I see." 

            He knelt down and tried to find the title of the work. It was written with strong strokes in the right corner. It read 'Amor'. 

            "Amor. I wish I knew what it means," Quatre wondered wistfully. It was certainly a word from a Latin language, but which one, he did not know. So many languages for so few people, he mused. 

            "Love. It means love in Spanish." Trowa answered his friend before frowning. 

            "Really? Does that mean Milliardo painted the woman he loved?" Quatre asked, not noticing the way his friend's face darkened quickly. His muscles were tense and his jaw was tight. 

            "Is he married?"

            "Who?"

            "Milliardo Peacecraft."

            "Ah, yes, I believe so. Two years ago, if I'm not mistaken, but I have never met her before." He gazed at woman portrayed on the painting and smiled. "I wish I could meet her." He thought he would receive an answer from Trowa, but when he heard nothing, he turned his head and found him still gazing at the woman. 

            "Trowa?" 

            "It's nothing. I'll see your other artworks." He slowly walked away, leaving a surprised Quatre

behind. He tilted his head to the side, but then he smiled knowingly, a new light reflecting in his eyes. Yet, as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared. 

            The only smiling figure that had remained was the unknown woman.

                                                *            *            *            *            *          

                                                      _My shadow is born from light __  
                                                      The light of the eye, in darkness   
  
___

            It has been a week since his encounter with Quatre at his gallery, but Trowa could not stop remembering the woman that has been haunting his dreams. Those full, rosy lips, those sky-blue eyes, the hair with the same colour as gold itself...

            He shook his head. Lying on his bed for an hour, doing nothing at all was starting to get boring. He hadn't reveived a word from Quatre lately, and somehow, this didn't bother him. He knew his friend was probably busy with work, especially with such an important company in his hands. He sighed, a foreign sound to his ears. 

            He turned his head, planting his cheek on the soft pillow. The alarm clock beside the table was his only company at the moment. It read four o'clock in the evening. He still had three hours until it was time to dress up and have dinner. Rolling to the other side, so he could watch the orange sky through the window, the sound of the telephone ringing startled him. 

            He sat on the edge of the bed and combing his hair with his fingers, he picked the receiver. Holding it against his cheek, he waited until the person on the other line talked.

            "Trowa? It's me, Quatre."

            "Quatre." He acknowledged his friend, waiting for him to continue. "I have a surprise for you. Are you free to travel with me to the countryside?"

            He thought for a moment and replied, "yes. Why?" Trowa asked, his voice neutral as usual. Yet, it could not fool Quatre, for it had sounded slightly uncertain. It did not matter. "Great. Prepare your bags because we are leaving tomorrow."

            Trowa arched an eyebrow but did agree to the predicament. After ending the conversation, he could not help but wonder why his friend had sounded so eager. A surprise, did he say? Very well; maybe with this trip, his mind would forget about this golden haired goddess.  

_                                                      Over troubled waters memories soar __  
                                                      Endlessly, searching night and day   
_

                                                *            *            *            *            *

            The car which was taking them to the countryside was big and luxurious, but it did not help avoiding hitting the pebbles on the road. Trowa was reading a book, whilst Quatre sat across from him, his eyes staring at the landscape. Once in a while, he would cast a glance at his brown haired friend, but would quickly avert his gaze. 

            Trowa didn't seem annoyed by this. Actually, he was having fun with his book, for it was written by one of the best authors in the world, from his point of view, of course.

            "We're almost there," Quatre informed him as he had shut the book and placed it beside him. "Where are we staying?"

            Silence. He turned his head and saw an amused Quatre. This was indeed very strange. 

            "At a friend's house. He's a painter as well, so I guess you'll be just fine." Trowa nodded and rested the back of his head against the carriage wall. Even though it was spring, the sun had decided to hide itself behind grey clouds, indicating rain for the next few days. 

            The image of an angel appeared in his mind. Again. He cursed mentally and shook his head. It wasn't the time for this. 

            "Any problem?"

            "No."

            Quatre kept watching the trees which they passed by, the green leaves still dry before they were cleaned with the downpour that would certainly come. A small bird flew to the window and stayed there, watching the two people inside this strange moving thing which was not an animal. It opened its wings and stratched its body. Blinking twice, it opened its beak and emitted a melodious song. When it was done, Quatre clapped and the bird flew away. 

                                                *            *            *            *            *  

            The place where they were going to stay was big and very comfortable. It was hard to believe they were in the countryside when one could have all the facilities a city house had from that place, except, maybe, for gas to cook food. The problem was easily solved, though; a stove which needs wood to work was settled near the stony sink. The electricity was easily arranged due to the small yet potent river beside the house. 

            Trowa placed his luggage on the floor of his new bedroom. His bed was in the centre of the room; a small table near his bed had a small vase full of fresh flowers, just recently cut from the garden. A wardrobe was on the other side of the bed, slightly to the left side, making an aisle to the window. 

            It was impossible to say that he was not pleased with his accomodations. He sat on his bed and thought about all of this and the reason he had decided to come here. Quatre was the main issue he was thinking about and he wondered what he had in mind. The edges of his lips lifted up slightly. He was a box full of surprises.

            Standing up, he gathered clean clothes and headed for his bathroom, because a bath was much needed. He was not dirty or anything, however he felt his muscles ache due to the trip. Four hours inside a car reading a book could make the strongest man's neck stiff. Throwing his head to the right and then to the left side, he opened the tap and let the water fill the bathtub. Setting a white towel near it and closing the tap of hot water after some minutes, he stepped inside and moaned in pleasure. 

            Grabbing a soap, he started cleaning himself.   

                                                *            *            *            *            *

            "Trowa, over here! I'd like you to meet our hosts."

            Trowa walked slowly to his friend, who had waved enthusiastically to him, his hand making quick movements. He saw a couple near the fireplace, the man with lond blonde hair and very light blue eyes. He had something that reminded him of aloofness, but he was not sure. The woman beside him, holding his hand, had dark hair and darker blue eyes, her movements graceful and gentle. He shook hands with the blonde man and kissed the woman's hand. 

            "It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, his face serious and impassive. 

            "It's our pleasure to meet you, Mr. Barton. Quatre has told us many things about you. You're a painter as well, I believe?" Trowa nodded and received a satisfied nod from his host. "My name is Milliardo Peacecraft, but please, call me Milliardo. This is my wife, Lucrezia." The man gave her wife a warm smile and squeezed her hand, but the small gesture of affection was lost on Trowa. His eyes had widened slightly and his mouth had opened slightly before he shut it. 

            His mind was in a turmoil; so this was the famous Milliardo Peacecraft whom he had heard so many times from Quatre. The man who had painted her, 'Amor'.

He had, after some time, nicknamed that angel in Quatre's gallery of 'Amor', for she truly represented it. But the woman in front of him wasn't her, wasn't his 'Amor'. What could this mean?

"You two look like you've been married for many years, if I may say so." Trowa told them gallantly, watching their eyes for any hint of him being wrong. Milliardo laughed and Noin, akin Lucrezia, blushed. 

"Thank you, Barton, but we've only been married for two years. But I have to agree with you; I feel like I've always been with her,"  he trailed off, kissing Noin's cheek. She closed her eyes and accepted his romantic gesture in front of the two men. 

Quatre seemed to notice the confusion in Trowa, for he quickly interjected in the coversation. Truth be told, he was as confused as him, for he had thought he would show him the woman he had been enamoured with. 

"Milliardo, do you remember the painting you've given me? 'Amor'?" 

"Of course," he replied, taking a seat. He motioned for the two men to sit across from him, for it would be a more comfortable way to talk and know each other better. Noin sat on the armchair and rested her hands on her husband's right shoulder. 

"Well, I'd like to know who's the girl," Quatre explained, trying to sound merely curious. 

"She's my angel, my love. Mi amor," he said, staring at Noin's eyes. Quatre was now utterly confused, blinking rapidly and watching the couple in front of him. 

"I don't understand. She doesn't look like Mrs. Peacecraft, but you said-"

"Mr. Winner, my husband won't tell you much, I'm afraid. He's quite jealous of his 'amor' and doesn't want to share her with anyone." She patted his shoulder and smiled to them. 

"It's quite true, Quatre. I'm sorry."

"But, she's real, right? She does exist?"

"Maybe." He smiled to his guests, though it was a sad one. "Let's just say that she's too good to be real." 

Walking hand-in-hand, the couple left the living-room and retired to their bedroom. Quatre turned his face to Trowa, whose mind was just as disappointed with their host's answers. 

"I'll go to my bedroom." He stood up and left Quatre alone, whose shadow moved swiftly as the fire lighted his form. He nodded and watched the beauty this natural light emitted, sensuous and dangerous at the same time. 

                                    *            *            *            *            * 

The raindrops lashed wildly against the glass, creating small rivers of water as it fell to the lowest part of the window. Lightnings appeared as quickly as they disappeared, and thunders could be heard far away, making the small animals hide deeper in the woods.    

Trowa lifted his body and sat on his bed, combing his hair with his fingers. He watched the rain from the window and sighed, shaking hid head while doing so. The late talk with Milliardo Peacecraft had left him even more curious toward the identity of 'Amor'. He did not tell them whether she was real or not, but he loved her. The strangest part was that his wife was not jealous of this other woman. Certainly, it was possible to distinguish a difference of some years between the two women, but still, it was weird. Women were notoriously known for their jealous tempers, and Lucrezia was no exception. 

He shook his head once again. He would not sleep that night, for his mind was boiling with too many thoughts. All the new information he had gathered only helped to make him feel more confused. Getting out of his bed, he took a coat that had been thrown on a chair and dressed up. He watched the storm outside. He would get wet but he needed some air. 

Opening the door as slowly as he could so he would not wake other people, he stepped outside and headed for the main doors, where he could go out and inhale some fresh air and dissipate some of his worries. 

He found it easily and pushed them open. They were in the countryside, it was hard to have any robber, one of the reasons the door had been left unlocked. 

Barely had he opened them when the raindrops hit his face, splashing the cool liquid over his tanned skin. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and paced in the direction of the forest. It was not a very deep forest, there was no animal that could endanger his life. 

The soft and moistured grass beneath his feet cringed with the pressure he applied on it. He squinted his eyes, but the water kept making his vision blur. He could not see very well, the colours tended to mix up, creating a myriad of colours right in front of him. He could barely distinguish a deer from a big brown rock. 

A chilling wind blew by, making him shiver uncontrollably. He crossed his arms over his chest, an attempt to warm his body. He was not certain he was ready to go back to the safety of his room. He kept walking, unaware of the winding path he was following, or better saying, creating. 

                                                      _The moonlight caresses a lonely hill __  
                                                      With the calmness of a whisper   
  
___

He walked until he saw a white figure hovering not far from him. This strange creature had a golden head whilst the rest of its body was long and white. It was somewhat short, barely reaching his shoulder. He narrowed his eyes and gasped. It was a woman. 

As he approached her, she whirled around and he stopped right in his track. Her sorrowful eyes bored into his green ones, a silent fire cracking in the depths of her blue orbs. Her cheeks were wet due to the rain, but her red eyes told him that another liquid stained them. Her white nightgown hung around her body, sticking to her womanly curves as a second skin and he licked his lips. 

She was his 'Amor'. He had finally found her. 

He stretched out his arm but she backed away. His arm fell to his side, but he kept watching her. Could she be just an apparition or was she truly real? He needed to know. 

"Please, do not approach me." His body tensed up by the mere sound of her voice which was melodic and sad. She was real and he sighed in relief. Then, his body stiffened. She could die of a cold if she stayed under the rain, soaked to the bones. 

"You will a catch a cold if you stay there." He stretched out once again his hand, but she did not take it. She stared at it and did not move. He moved a step toward her and she stepped back, her quick motion surprising him. Could he be scaring her?

"I won't harm you."

"Please, I want to be alone." It was barely a whisper, but he did hear it anyway. He shook his head. "Come, I won't harm you, I promise you."

She stepped back once more, and this time, she could not repress all her bottled up frustration, sadness and rage.

"I want to be alone! Why can't anyone understand this!!" He was astounded to say the least, but nonetheless, he stood there, his face void of any emotion, a mask to the society. The girl's legs, tired of her distress, gave away and she slumped to the floor, sobbing all the while. She placed her hands on her face and whimpered in pain. 

_                                                      I wear a naked soul __  
                                                      A blank face in the streaming water   
  
___

Trowa ran to her side and knelt down, patting her back with his hand, soothing her with comforting words, though he had no idea of the reason of her suffering. She cried her heart out, her cries chilling his heart. She opened her eyes, so blue like the vast clear sky that it almost made him gasp; he had shut his mouth in time before emitting the sound. She looked at him and clung to his shirt, grabbing the cloth in her tiny fists. She continued crying. 

They stood like that for hours, or maybe only some minutes, he did not know. Time passed so quickly that he had no idea. A century could have passed and it would have given him the same effect. When she finally stopped, he discovered she had fallen asleep. Carrying her in his arms, he returned to the Peacecraft haven, but stopped in the living room. Where should he place her? He had no idea of whom she was, a major problem, by the way. 

She shivered within is arms and he barely registered where his legs were taking him. It seemed like they had gained life and a mind of its own, for he soon found himself in his chamber, a sleeping beautiful girl on his bed. He ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. 

"...Heero..." she mumbled. He frowned but decided not to think about it. He headed to the bathroom and brought a clean and dry towel. Not looking at her body, just at her face, he quickly undressed her, glad that it was a night gown with no buttons which could have given him big troubles. He wrapped her petite form in the towel and placed warm covers over her. He went to the bathroom and took off his his wet clothes. Once he was in clad in warm and dry clothes, he sat on a chair and burried his face in his hands. 

_                                                      It is cold in here __  
                                                      Frost scar my coat with dust_   
  


He lifted his face and gazed at her and could not help smiling slightly. He had finally found her, and who would have thought she would be one day sleeping in his bedroom, on his bed! He approached her and traced her cheek with one dainty finger, marveling on the sweet sensation of her skin. He leaned his body and inclined his head so he was almost touching her face with his, and inhaled her scent. Roses. She smelled of fresh roses. 

The pink lips parted and his eyes widened. They seemed so soft...

"Heero, don't go..." She murmured. She turned her body so he could not see her face, but that did not matter to him. His hands turned into fists. 

Who was this damn Heero?

                                    *            *            *            *            *  

She woke up as the light filtered through the curtains, hitting her face. She squinted her eyes whilst raising her hand to prevent the luminosity from blinding her. Her throat felt dry and somehow, her eyes hurt terribly, almost not opening to her command. 

She looked around and gasped. It was not her bedroom! She turned her head, searching for any hints of her whereabouts. All she spotted was a coat hanging on a chair, some unknown liquid oozing out from it and wetting the wood. 

She looked at her body and her eyes widened as her cheeks gained a new colour, a red that did not mean health, but rather something else. She clutched the towel to her body with more strength, especially on the area above her breasts and stood up slowly. She felt her muscles sore, drained, as if she had done some huge effort, which she could not remember at all. 

The room was terribly neat and organized. She circled the bed and walked to the window where she could see the garden. The sun was already hovering over the sky, white clouds helping this golden orb to decorate its abode. She pulled her eyes away and headed for the door. It was not locked. Turning it, she opened it and stepped outside.

The chandeliers hanging on the ceiling were on, but not in its full glory for it was still day. The carpet was smooth beneath her feet, and the corridors were of a beige colour, soothing and relaxing. She knew where she was: in the guest wing. 

                                                      _Eyes attach to your mute portrait __  
                                                      We spoke only through thoughts   
  
___

She looked behind her and said a thank you to the unknown person who had brought her there. One step after the other, she made her way to her own chambers, hoping her brother did not miss her this morning, or else, Hell had descended on earth. 

                                    *            *            *            *            *

"Where is she?" Milliardo asked himself whilst pacing around his chambers with a very annoyed Noin by his side. "She didn't show up for breakfast and she wasn't in her room!" he breathed out, his brows knitted together in frustration.

"I am sure she's fine, so please sit down and rest, dear. She's probably woken up early and was enjoying herself in the garden with Hope. She loves her horse, especially after..." she paused, unable to continue. Milliardo stopped walking and watched his wife with sorrowful eyes. 

"I knew it was wrong since the beginning, now look what happened."

"You can't blame him, one can't decide when to die." He sighed and sat on a couch near his wife, taking her hand in his, caressing her palm with his thumb with gentle strokes. "I know, I'm sorry, but she's so hurt...I wish I could help her."

"You already are," she replied, kissing his cheek. "Our guests must be missing us, we should go." She stood up, taking his hand with her. He smiled and also stood up, not without some exaggerated force, bringing her to him, crashing her body to his. She laughed at his tactic and hugged his chest before letting go so she could take care of the wrinkles on her clothes. 

"Shall we?" he asked teasingly, lifting his arm so she could take it. She patted his head but took it nonetheless. Quatre and Trowa found them like this when the couple arrived in the living room, where the two friends had been talking. 

"Good morning, Quatre, Trowa," the host salluted them with a nod. Both friends nodded and waited for them to take a seat. 

"You look distressed, Milliardo. Is there any problem?" Quatre asked, his face contorted with some worry. 

"You're very perceptive, my friend. Yes, there's a minor problem, but I'm sure it will be solved." As he said this, the sound of shoes touching the wooden floor could be heard. All the four people turned their heads to this new presence, who blushed due to all the attention she was given. 

"Good morning, brother, Lu. I am sorry for my lateness." She did not look at her brother's eyes, afraid of some reprimand especially in front of strangers. 

Quatre gasped, his angelic blue eyes widening at the sight of the girl. Brother? So she was Milliardo's brother, he concluded. So that's where the jealousy came, he reckoned to himself, a smile spreading through his entire face. Trowa was also surprised at the revelation, but he remained calm. The woman he had saved last night was his host's sister. Younger, presumably. 

"Relena, you almost killed me with worry. Why weren't you in you bed? You weren't feeling well yesterday." Her brother admonished. She flushed and stuttered, trying come up with a good excuse. She had never been good at lying to her brother. 

"I-I was out." She blurted out the words. She finally lifted her face and gasped when she saw a familiar face, one she was sure she had seen last night. All her memories of yesterday was still a blur except for the memory of this man. Trowa.

_                                                      Together we gazed, awaited __  
                                                      Hours brought thirst and the rising sun   
  
___

"Really? Where have you been?" Milliardo pressed, though he could feel his wife's nail digging in his flesh. 

Relena's head fell and she could feel tears in her eyes. Why should her brother do this in front of others, especially in front of this man who probably knew the entire truth?  

"I was with her," Trowa said, surprising all the beings in that room. "She had an insomnia last night and I found her. We talked and then she fell asleep. I didn't know where was her bedroom so I took her to mine and I slept on the floor," he added in the end, noticing the way Milliardo's eyes had narrowed when he had heard the last part. 

"Thank you, Trowa, for taking care of her. She hasn't been feeling well lately," Noin started but stopped when she noticed a sob from Relena. "Relena? What's the matter?"

She was trembling from head to toe, small rivulets of tears running down her cheeks. She lifted her gaze and couldn't help but scream, "You all say this! That I am ill when all I am doing is suffering because of his death!!" with that said, she ran away, leaving them dumbfounded. Trowa was the first one to stand up and run to her aid, following her track. 

_                                                      Sunbirds leave their dark recesses __  
                                                      Shadows glid the archways_

"I...I don't know what to say," Noin muttered, her own eyes filled with some tears. She hugged her husband. 

"May I know what is happening?" Quatre asked, shocked and confused. The couple sighed, but they did comply to his small request. 

                                    *            *            *            *            *          

She ran as fast as she could to the forest, where she knew no one would bother her. Was it wrong to mourn over someone's death, especially her finaceé's? Her tiny hands closed in the form of fists. Of course she wasn't wrong, they were the wrong ones, she told herself. 

She sobbed some more, her chest rising and falling quickly due to her tears and running. She did not mind, for he had been her life and now, he was dead. She had no more meaning to stay alive. She was not important to the world, she had accomplished nothing in her nineteen years old, nothing. 

Strong hands wrapped themselves around her slim waist, making her gasp in susprise. She turned her head and saw dark brown hair and one gree eyes staring back at her with something she could not decipher. Was it pity? She gritted her teeth. 

_                                                      Do not turn your face towards me __  
                                                      Confronting me with my lonliness   
  
_

"Let me go!" she screamed, but the man did not yield. She started to struggle in his arms, hitting his hard chest with her small fists. Futile, she knew, but she had this sudden urge to hurt someone, anyone and he was the nearest. She punched his chest as much as she could, with as much strength she could muster, but he did not even frown with the discomfort, which enraged her. Finally, when she felt her arms weak, she could not help it but hug this strong body and cry. 

He remembered the same scene as last night, only they were now dry. He placed a small hand on her back and patted it. The small golden head buried in his chest made his heart beat faster and he tightened his hold over her. 

                                                      _You are in a forest unknown __  
                                                      The secret orchard   
  
___

"I'm sorry..." she said, her voice muffled for she had her face buried in his clothes. He nodded but did not release her. "I'm better now, you can let me go," she pressed, feeling his arms around her. He could not see it, but her cheeks had gained a pink colour. 

"You're not well," he explained which was the wrong answer. She tensed up and started to struggle in his arms again. 

"Let me go!! I want to stay alone!!" she cried out, and this time, he let her go. 

"You're not as strong as I thought you were." He started to walk away, back to the house. She stared at his back for some minutes, watching as it slowly started to fade.

"Why am I not strong? Because I cry?" she asked with sarcasm tainting every word she spoke. He stopped. 

"No."

"Then tell me!"

"You think life isn't worth it now that he's gone."

Her eyes widened. How could he know that she had tried to kill herself? No one knew, not even her brother and Lucrezia. Then, she remembered that he must have been the one who changed her clothes for her. He had probably seen the marks on her wrists. She looked down, ashamed, but then she replied in a very low voice, "You have no idea of how I feel. I loved him and now he's gone." New tears started to flow from her eyes. 

"Maybe not, but life is too precious to be wasted like that. He wouldn't want it."

                                                      _And your voice is vast and achromatic __  
                                                      But still so precious   
  
___

"How would you know?!" she demanded. Of course Heero would want them to be together, right? Right? She couldn't have been wrong about him, could she?

"He loved you."

"I don't understand."

"He loved you and wanted you to be happy, to be alive."

"It's not true, he'd want me with him."

"No, he wouldn't. After all we all die, sooner or later. You'd meet him in the end, but this isn't the point. He wanted you to enjoy life, to be happy just like when he was around you." The tears started to flow more, her eyes closed and her hands placed on her heart. He was right. 

She fell to her knees and hugged them, rocking back and forth. Heero wanted her alive, he wanted her to be happy. But how would she manage that when he meant everything to her?

                                                      _Lullaby of the crescent moon took you __  
                                                      Mesmerized, its kaleidoscopic face   
  
___

"He was my life, my love. I can't go on without him," she whispered. He walked to her form and knelt beside her, watching her with sad eyes. "What about your family? Would you leave them behind to mourn your death?" She shook her head, but she felt so empty that death seemed very appealing.

"There isn't just one type of love, of amor. Your brother loves you and you loves him. There are also your friends, don't forget about them," he continued, placing his hands on her shoulders. She nodded. 

_                                                      Granted you a hollow stare __  
                                                      Another soul within the divine herd   
  
___

"...Thank you...again..."

The edges of his mouth lifted upwards, a small smile just for her, though she had no idea of that. 

                                    *            *            *            *            *

Time is a funny thing. It can make a love last for all eternity, but it can also present a second chance, a new love. Relena turned her face and gave a small loaf of bread to the birds that had been playing around them. She smiled. 

"Relena, you can't move until I'm done," Trowa admonished, setting his paint brush down. She smiled and lifted up her nose. "Oh yeah?"

He smirked, something rare and that he would only show her. "Yes." He walked to her direction and she gulped. It was no good, he looked like a hunter after its prey, and she was the prey.

"Ahn, I'll be quiet, I promise, " she tried but the strange glint in his eyes did not disappear. "Eeeep!" she cried out and ran for her life with a very amused Trowa running after her. Jogging would be the certain term, but Relena would not accept it. He soon caught her and embraced her, inhaling her scent. She closed her eyes and sighed. It was good to be in the arms of the one you loves, she thought wistfully. 

_                                                      I have kept it __  
                                                      The amaranth symbol   
  
___

Heero would always have a especial place in her heart, she was certain of this. But, time changes and new love can be found. She opened her eyes and saw the green colour she's learned to love. The past was in the past, and she could not live there, mourning over him. She  has the present and the future ahead of her, with a very especial person beside her. 

She kissed his lips and lifted her face to the sky. 

"Goodbye, Heero."

_                                                      Hiddin inside the golden shrine __  
                                                      Until we rejoice in the meadow   
                                                      Of the end   
  
_

A strange wind started to blow, lifting Relena's skirt and making her blush madly. Trowa hugged her more fiercely, whispering loving words in her ear. 

            The wind blew against the painting Trowa had started a week ago, drying the ink so it would be ready in less time. The painting was extremely beautiful if one cared to see it. A beautiful girl stood in the centre of the painting, her smile captivating any person who would be looking at her. Her golden hair flew around her, and she had white angelic wings on her back. It was not the same magic Milliardo had created with the cloth and the light so it could be mistaken with wings, no, Trowa had truly painted wings, for she was his angel. Small white feathers were floating around her, and strange colourful lightbeams were emanated from the sky, creating an ethereal atmosphere. The angel wore a small necklace with a word as a pendant.

                                                      _When we both walk the shadows __  
                                                      It will set ablaze and vanish   
                                                      Black rose immortal   
  
___

            It read 'vida'.

_                                                      It is getting dark again __  
                                                      Dusk shuffle across the fields   
                                                      The evening trees moan as if they knew   
                                                      At night I always dream of you_

            The name of the painting? I will let you all guess, though it is quite obvious. The angel represented his life and the way he should live it, or in other words, with love. Death is a certainty all men know and which they cannot escape. How to make one's life worth living? By living it whole-heartedly, loving one's friends, family and lover with all one's heart. When one finally dies and will be judged by God, he will not have to fear of going to Hell, for he lived his life to its fullest. 

            Besides, when one loves, time seems to past very slowly.

            As it was said before, time is a funny thing. 

                                                _            ~ Fin ~  _

This was my first 3xR fic, and I hope you all enjoyed it. Cheers for this couple!! By the way, 'vida' means life in Spanish. __


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